She's thirteen. Time will remedy that.

Nuns? They'd take one look at Barrons and decide the devil himself had come knockng. He not only looked dangerous, he emanated something that made even me feel like crossing myself sometimes, and I'm not religious.

You, Ms. Lane, are a menace to others! A walking, talking catastrophe in pink!

Barrons knows virtually everything about me. I wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere he has a little file that encompasses my entire life to date, with neatly mounted, acerbically captioned photos—see Mac sunbathe, see Mac paint her nails, see Mac almost die.

Please tell me we don't grow up and turn into the adults that drive us crazy.

But then we so rarely understand the value of what we possess until it's gone.

Grief shared was grief lessened.